The Lamb and The Ace
by the little harlequin
Summary: AU. Jack Wynand is finally living a quiet life, with the five Little Sisters he rescued from Rapture. That is until, one day, a woman appears on his farm, seemingly from nowhere, near death and full of talk about a man called Atlas. Jack/Elizabeth.


_So, this is my first Bioshock fanfic! This is an idea I've had ever since finishing Burial at Sea: Part 2 and I just thought that, since I've had some time recently, I would finally get around to actually writing it and posting it!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Bioshock._

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The morning was bright when Jack awoke. Yellow sunlight streamed in through the crack in his curtains as he sat on the edge of his bed and stretched, relieving the tension that had built up in his muscles overnight. He dressed quickly, pulling on a light shirt, which he rolled to his elbows, and the pair of black work pants he usually wore around the farm, the cuffs of which were frayed and the knees almost worn through.

He made his way to the front door of the farmhouse, though not before checking in on the girls, assuring himself that they were all still sound asleep. Crowded into the larger of the house's two bedrooms, the five girls Jack had rescued from Rapture were still all slumbering in their beds - Cathy, Emily, Masha and Leta, who had somehow ended up sleeping together, hands clasped firmly as they adapted to this new surface world together, and, at the very end, Sally, blonde hair obscuring her features and little fingers curled around her treasured doll.

Jack felt himself smile as he watched them, revelling in the fact that they were sleeping, free of nightmares, for the first time in the month since they'd surfaced. Allowing them another hour's sleep before awakening them for breakfast, he closed the door to their bedroom as quietly as he could and went out into the farm.

The sun was hot despite the early hour and Jack began to feel sweat gathering on his brow as he went about his morning's work. He fed the small herd of cows they'd amassed, collected any eggs from the hen house and mucked out the stable of the old horse, Nelly, that had come with the house. Amongst his _(fake)_ memories Jack could remember riding a horse in his youth, taking it through the open fields that surrounded his _(fake) _home while his _(fake) _parents watched on in admiration.

"Look at our boy go," his father hadn't said.

Jack swallowed, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Now wasn't the time to dwell on the past, falsified or otherwise - he needed to focus on the present. Old Nelly whinnied as he passed her and he gave the side of her neck an affectionate pat on his way back up to the house. As he approached, he could see that one of the girls was already awake, sitting on the steps of the porch, waiting for him.

"Good morning, Sally," he greeted her once in earshot, throwing the girl a lopsided grin. The words sounded gruff and he tried his best to ignore the stab of pain simply speaking had incurred in his throat. The vocal cord surgery he had underwent to become a Big Daddy had been reversed, though he was still healing - a little bit each day.

"Good morning, Papa Jack," she beamed up at him, as she carefully smoothed out a crease in her doll's dress. Elizabeth, it was called. Sally had christened her as such shortly after arriving on the surface and, when questioned on the choice of title, she had merely shrugged, citing that it sounded like a good sort of name.

He offered his hand to her, which she gleefully accepted, allowing him to help her to her feet. "Let's go wake up the others, shall we?" he suggested, leading her back into the house when she nodded in agreement.

Twenty minutes later, all five girls were awake and seated, in eager anticipation, around the kitchen table as they watched Jack stir the oatmeal one final time before he turned to them, advising them to sit back as he dished it out. No sooner had it filled their bowls did the girls start into their breakfast hungrily, smearing oats and milk all over their faces in their haste to eat. Jack sat at the head of the table, eating his own - smaller - bowl of oatmeal slowly as he surveyed the girls and tended to any requests they had.

"Papa Jack, can I have another glass of milk?"

"Are there any raspberries left, Papa Jack?"

"But, Papa Jack, I'm _still_ hungry, can't I have some more oatmeal? _Please__?_"

After breakfast, as with any other day, Jack collected up the empty cups and bowls and stowed them away in the sink, to be washed once he had completed his next task of the morning. Entering their bedroom with them, Jack proceeded to help the girls dress for the day ahead, advising Emily that perhaps today wasn't the best day for her good new dress while simultaneously braiding Masha's hair. He had become a dab hand at braiding hair, he mused with no small amount of pride as he secured the ribbon in place before the plait could become undone.

Once dressed, Jack allowed the girls to go about their own activities for the day - provided, of course, that they didn't wander off the farm. As usual, Cathy and Emily opted to remain inside - Cathy with her crayons and several pieces of paper, Emily with her books. At nearly seven years old, Emily loved books and, while her time as a Little Sister had stunted her education and she wasn't as well-read as many other little girls her age, Jack had been helping her catch up and, each time he ventured into town, he always made sure to bring home a new book for Emily.

"We're going outside!" Masha saw fit to announce on behalf of her and Leta, though it was unsurprising to all those present.

While Cathy and Emily preferred the comfort of the farmhouse, Masha and Leta lived for the openness of the outdoors. At first they had been terrified by it, stricken by agoraphobia after knowing only the confines of Rapture all their lives, but once they had discovered that there were no walls or windows to hold them in, that the sun was nothing to be afraid of, they were enamoured by it and seemed intent on living out their days basking in the light.

"Be careful," Jack warned them, as he did every other morning, a slight twinkle in his eye.

"We will!" the two girls chorused happily before they raced off into the garden, hand in hand.

Jack smiled as he watched them go, shaking his head as Leta fell mere steps out the door before she picked herself up and raced on in a fervent attempt to catch up with Masha, affirming to him that they would have their dresses spoiled by lunchtime. He glanced down when he felt something tug insistently at his pants' leg and he spared Sally a small smile as she gazed up at him, wide-eyed.

"Do you need any help with anything, Papa Jack?" she said and Jack stooped down to pick her up.

"Well," he replied, taking them both into the kitchen, "I could use some help drying the dishes. Do you think you'd be up for that?"

She grinned widely and bobbed her head happily as Jack placed her on the counter top next to the sink, "That's brilliant," he continued as, with a squeak, he turned on the tap, allowing water to pour over the dirty bowls, "Now I'll be sure to get it done twice as fast."

By nine o'clock the dishes were cleaned, dried and put away with only one broken plate detracting from their number. Sally had looked up at Jack, lower lip trembling, as it had fallen from her hands and onto the floor, shattering into five distinct pieces. Jack had hurried to quell her tears before they could be shed, reassuring her that it was only a broken plate, though cautioning her to mind the shards as he cleaned up the mess.

Lifting her down off the counter, Jack took Sally's proffered hand and led her out onto the porch, pausing only to pick up his sewing basket and three of the girls' dresses on his way out. With the sun beating down on them, growing hotter and hotter the closer it drew to noon, Jack settled himself in the battered old rocking chair they'd found stowed away in the attic when they first bought the house. Sally sat cross-legged near his feat as he sewed, patching up holes in Masha and Leta's dresses, while she played imaginary games with her doll.

It was a strange feeling - perhaps, because he had only become accustomed to it as of late - but Jack felt oddly at peace as he expertly guided the needle in and out of the fabric. He was getting better at this, too, he couldn't help but commend himself as he smoothed out the garment to take a look at his handiwork so far. The stitching was neat and straight, nothing like the clumsy affairs that he had produced the first time he attempted a task such as this. He looked at his hands, eyes roaming over the scars left on his wrists from the use of EVE hypos, and he squeezed his eyes shut as memories of Rapture threatened to bubble to the surface.

_Would you kindly. Would you kindly. Would you-_

No.

That wasn't him anymore. By his father's standards, he was a man now - he chose his own path.

He opened his eyes, content at having kept the memories of Rapture safely at bay _(for now) _and his brow furrowed in confusion when he saw either Masha or Leta - he couldn't be sure, she was still too far away to be distinguished - bounding up towards them. It was Masha, he determined eventually, when she skidded to a halt in the dirt and gazed up at him with big, frightened eyes.

"Masha, what is it? What's wrong?" Jack asked, rising to his feet, concern welling up in him at the absence of her constant companion, "Where's Leta?"

"She's with the lady," Masha explained, a little breathlessly, and Jack felt a spike of confusion rush through him, "Come on, Papa Jack, we think she's hurt." Masha stumbled forward to grab Jack's hand in both of hers, tugging on it insistently, "We need to help her."

"OK," Jack replied, nodding, "Show me where she is."

Masha bobbed her head furiously, twin braids bouncing up and down with the motion. "This way," she said, beckoning them to follow.

The little girl set off sprinting across the garden, with Jack and Sally jogging along behind her, until they reached the gnarled old apple tree that had been planted down by the fence. Leta looked up as the three of them approached, her eyes wide with worry. She was crouched down by an obscured figure - a woman - who was lying, shrouded in the long grass, and she rose to her feet as Jack and the two girls came to a halt in front of them.

"Papa Jack," she whispered, glancing back over her shoulder before returning her gaze to him, "She won't wake up."

Jack nodded solemnly, reaching out a hand to place on Leta's shoulder, "It'll be all right, don't worry," he tried to reassure her, wordlessly urging the girls to stand back as he cautiously approached the woman in the grass.

She looked only a few years younger than Jack, dark hair obscuring otherwise beautiful features. He swallowed hard, feeling his heart quicken with worry, when he took in the blood pouring from the ugly head wound the woman was sporting. He swore quietly under his breath and took a handkerchief from his pants' pocket to hold against the wound, in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. It did not look good.

Carefully, he touched the figure's shoulder, shaking it gently in an attempt to rouse her. It had no effect. He tried again, clearing his throat as he called to the woman, "Uh, miss? Miss? Can you hear me, miss?"

He heard Leta's voice, tiny and afraid, "Is she...?"

"Dead?" Masha finished her friend's question, swallowing hard against the word.

Jack hesitated before answering, though he couldn't help but assume the worst. Just then, however, he felt the woman stir beneath his hand and she gave a muffled groan of pain. Masha and Leta both gasped happily and prepared to race forward, but Jack held up a hand - a wordless order for them to stay back. They still didn't know who this woman was, much less where she came from or how she had come to gain her head wound. She was dressed in distinctly upper class garb, telling Jack right away that she wasn't from around these parts.

"Miss, can you hear me?" he tried again, once he saw her eyes flicker.

"Where...?" he heard her say, her voice rough, the rest of her question lost as she let out a hiss of pain.

"It's all right, now, miss. You're safe," Jack reassured her, the white of his handkerchief rapidly turning red the longer he held it to the wound. He needed to get her up into the house; he had medical supplies up there - bandages, morphine. "Miss, can you, uh, can you open your eyes?"

The woman groaned again, her eyes blinking open as blue met green. Her brow seemed to furrow in something akin to confusion as she looked up at him, "Atlas...?" she whispered and Jack almost dropped the handkerchief from her head in surprise.

Atlas. How common a name was that up here, on the surface? He was going to go out on a limb and say not very - and Jack could think of only one way that this woman would know it.

She was from Rapture.

"No," Jack choked out, the mere mention of the name - the name of the man he had trusted, the name of the man who betrayed him, controlled him - incurring flashes of memories in his brain that, despite his best efforts, he could not seem to suppress, "My name is..."

He trailed off when he realized that the woman wasn't looking at him anymore, that her gaze was fixated on something past him. He spared a glance over his shoulder to where the three girls were watching the exchange with wide, terrified eyes - Masha and Leta holding hands, while Sally clutched her doll tightly.

Jack heard the woman gasp, a rattling guttural sound. Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to find the words to speak.

"S... Sally?" the woman managed, something like a smile working its way onto her lips, before her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell, limp, into Jack's arms.

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_So that was the first chapter. I understand that a lot of you may have some questions - like, just how did Elizabeth find herself on Jack's farm in 1960? - but, I can assure you, that all will be revealed in later chapters. ;)_

_As always, reviews are much appreciated! Until next time! :3_


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